


Glory Days

by mydeira



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:52:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike misses his show, Illyria channels Simon Cowel, Angel isn’t broody, and Gunn is cool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glory Days

**Author's Note:**

> Written for denny_dc in sallyanne’s Winter 2006 Jossverse Flashficathon on LiveJournal. Her request was for: Gunn and Illyria survive alley. Spike does, too, but he lost his souls in the process. Angel lived, too. Pairing: Gunn/Illyria (she can turn into Fred if she wants); Spike/Angel (romance) Three elements: Spike is hooked on Battlestar Galactica, Angel and Spike sing for one of Lorne's relatives, Angel smokes cigarettes and drinks a lot of Jack Daniels. I think I nailed everything but Angel smoking and drinking. There’s not really a plot, kind of more a night in the life now of, or something like that. Hope you enjoy. And thank you to Savvy for the beta and help with wrapping this up.

“You owe me for this, Peaches,” Spike grumbled as they sped through the streets of LA.  “Missing the season finale of Galactica to go on this bloody wild goose chase of yours.  Roslin’s supposed to confront Gaius on his dealings with the Cylons.  I don’t see why this couldn’t wait until after eleven.”

 

“Because the fate of the real world takes precedence over the fate of some fictional characters on a stupid show,” Angel replied, downshifting as he took a sharp right.

 

“What’s it to me?  Soul-free, remember?”

 

“Didn’t stop you from teaming up with Buffy to keep me from bringing Acathla forth,” Angel pointed out.  “And if you’re all big on the not caring, what are you still doing hanging around, helping out?  Shouldn’t you be well on your merry evil way?”

 

“Merry evil way, listen to you,” Spike snorted, then quickly gripped the door as Angel swung the car into a wide space just past the club.  “Maybe I’ve just gotten used to a certain way of living.  Habit, you know.  Like cigarettes.”

 

“Being good is like smoking, then?”  Angel couldn’t help but laugh.  Spike was nothing if not entertaining.  With all the animosity that had built up over the centuries, he’d forgotten that.  “With analogies like that, Spike, it’s no wonder your poetry never went anywhere.”

 

Before his companion could reply, Angel threw the car into park, grabbed the keys from the ignition and jumped out.  He was halfway to the club before he noticed that Spike wasn’t following.  Turning, Angel saw him still sitting in the front seat, glowering at him darkly.

 

“Get out of the car, Spike,” Angel said impatiently, now remembering why it was Spike as entertaining didn’t last long. 

 

“No.  Not until you apologize, you wanker,” Spike sniffed.  “First you make me miss my show.  Then you insult my poetry.”

 

Spike had no soul, so Angel could stake him without remorse, right?  Right?  Unfortunately, Spike hadn’t done a thing to warrant staking since the Senior Partners took his soul in the alley in an attempt to use him against Angel.  It showed for all their power they weren’t all knowing.  Spike’s only comment on the whole matter was that it had been a “bloody nuisance” and he was well rid of it.  The thing that got Angel was that, for Spike, the soul hadn’t had a great influence on him, but Spike had always retained a bit more of his humanity than was common for most vampires.  Soul or no soul, Spike would always be Spike.

 

“ _William_ , get out of the car, now,” Angel said sharply, invoking the power of sire over childe.

 

Spike’s frown deepened, but he got out of the car.  “Just so you know, _Angelus_ , you’re bloody well sleeping by yourself tonight.”  He knocked Angel aside as he brushed past, shoving his fists into his duster pockets.

 

With Spike’s back to him, Angel stopped fighting the smile that had been threatening to take over.  It was an idle threat at best.  In the two years since the battle, there had only been one night when Spike had actually followed through, but that was because he’d been held captive by a tribe of Mahtloch demons.

 

They found Gunn and Illyria ensconced in a corner booth to the left of the stage.  Illyria was currently perched upon Gunn’s lap, intently watching the stage as she sipped at a frozen drink.  During Gunn’s recovery after the battle, Illyria never left his side.  The two formed an uneasy friendship at first that grew more comfortable as the weeks and months wore on.  Angel suspected part of it was due to the loss of Wesley, but the big catalyst was the fact that they found themselves at a loss with where they belonged in the world.  When things grew past friendship, Gunn had approached Angel.

 

“I know what you’re gonna say, and don’t, because that’s not the way this is,” Gunn had cut Angel off before he could comment.  “The thing is, I’ve never seen Fred when I look at her.  I mean, yeah, I can _see_ Fred because that’s whose body she took over, but I know it’s not her.  When Fred died, Fred died for me.  That’s something I don’t think Wes could ever get passed.”

 

“It’s not my place to stop you,” Angel had replied.

 

“No, it’s not, but I thought I’d give you a heads up.  Didn’t want you to get all broody for no good reason.”

 

“You talked to Spike first, didn’t you?”

 

Gunn had held up his hands in surrender.  “Hey, man, it wasn’t by choice.  He walked in on us.”

 

Angel had almost kicked Spike out that night for not giving him a heads up.  But the whole thing showed that Spike could be trusted.  Or at least in the cases where it made Angel uncomfortable.

 

“About time you boys decided to show up,” Gunn greeted them.  To Angel, he said, “I was almost afraid Spike talked you into waiting through Galactica.”

 

“Had to drag him out kicking and screaming, but I got us here,” he glanced at the neon clock, “with enough time to spare it looks like.”  He slipped into the booth in front of Spike, denying the other vampire the seat he had been eyeing.

 

Spike slumped down into the chair at the edge of the table instead.  “Tosser,” he grumbled.  “Make me miss my show, then you steal my bloody seat.”

 

Angel grinned and said, “And to think you were almost as feared as I was.”

 

“Almost!  Ha!  I put you in the dust ages ago, Peaches.”

 

Illyria stopped sipping her drink and turned on them coldly.  “You are being rude.  There is a man up there singing, and his noise does not grate on my ears.  But I cannot hear him over your petty bickering.  He could do well as the next American Idol were he not so orange.”

 

“Fancy yourself the next Simon Cowel, eh, Blue?” Spike snickered.

 

She gave Spike another withering glare before returning her attention to the stage.

 

“Touchy,” Spike commented.  “So, Charlie boy, any ideas if this Merv is the real thing or not?”

 

“Seems to be.  Though he’s lacking somewhat in Lorne’s charm.  But we already knew that sort of thing didn’t run in the family,” Gunn replied, reaching around Illyria for his beer.

 

“He is much like this Simon Cowel you wish to compare me to,” Illyria added without turning.  “Using the same analogy, Lorne would be more like that nauseating Abdul woman, though he never turned my stomach as she does.”

 

“I’m more of a Randy man, myself,” Angel chimed in without thinking.

 

Spike flashed him a wicked leer.  “’Bout time you owned up to it, Peaches.”

 

Angel opened his mouth to retort but Illyria cut him off.

 

“You and the blond one are up.  Do not make my ears bleed.”

 

Gunn chimed in.  “We had to pick a song when we signed you guys up.  I just went with the first thing that came to me.  So if you don’t like it, well, I tried.”

 

“As long as it’s not bleeding Barry Manilow, you’re safe with me,” Spike said.

 

A tiny pyrrah’nia demon took the stage.  Consulting the sheet of paper in his hand, he pulled the mic down, cleared his throat and announced, “ Next up, we have Angel and Spike singing Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Glory Days.’”

 

Angel didn’t move.  He loathed Springsteen.  Too working class and real for Angel’s tastes.  He preferred a bit more escapism with his music.

 

“Up and at ‘em, sunshine.” Spike pulled him out of the booth.  “Got us a command performance.

 

Angel flashed a death glare at Gunn before trudging after Spike.  He overheard Gunn say to Illyria, “I thought everyone was a fan of the Boss.”

 

“Yeah, what you got against Springsteen, Peaches?  Man’s one of the greatest poets of the modern age,” Spike stated.

 

“I don’t think your opinion on poetry is one I’m going to take seriously, William,” Angel bit back.  “But my problem with Springsteen is the fact that he’s considered a singer, but he doesn’t sing.  Like Dylan, he does more speaking than singing.”

 

“Better than trying to carry a tune when you know good and well that you can’t.”  Spike turned on him with a smirk.

 

Angel frowned as he took the stage first.  Hopefully, this Merv would be able to help them out.  If not, he was going to make sure his friends paid for this humiliation.  No, even if Merv did help, Angel was going to make them pay.  The hotel had excellent acoustics, and Manilow had just released that new album.

 

“What are you grinning about, Angel?” Spike asked with a touch of worry in his voice.

 

“Nothing, Spike, just sing,” Angel grinned wider as the music cued up.

 

As they waited, Angel let his gaze wander around the room, settling on Gunn and Illryia, then moving back to Spike.  This was the way things were meant to be.  They weren’t meant to fight on such a large scale like they had with Wolfram & Hart.  When things got too big, you lost sight of the things that mattered, you lost people you cared about.  But if they’d never gone to the firm in the first place, he never would have understood that.  Plus, Connor was a functioning member of society because of it.  Could have turned out a lot worse.  And there was the nice, shiny, red viper parked outside.  Wouldn’t have had that otherwise.  Things definitely could have turned out a lot worse.  He turned to Spike as the first chords of the song started up, answering his wicked smirk with a smile of his own and as he opened his mouth to belt out the first verse, he knew he wouldn’t have it any other way. 


End file.
